Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,79

that their souls were the same as she had once thought—lost and looking for each other?

She swallowed the large lump in her throat. “I did not love them,” she whispered.

“I see,” he replied, his voice rough and low. He stared down at her, his gaze probing. “If we had not been caught in the woods, Guin, and ye had understood what had occurred with Elizabeth and me, and I had then asked ye to marry me, would ye have said—”

“Yes,” she interrupted, needing him to understand the desperation of what she felt for him so he would feel free to return it.

“Mo ghraidh.” His voice slid over her like silk as his thumb came to her lip to brush it with the warm pad. His other hand slipped behind her neck, and he pressed the most exquisitely tender kiss to her lips. When he pulled back, his fingertips curled around her neck, and he said, “When we are alone—”

“Guinevere!” her mother shrilled as light spilled from the house into the shadowy garden. “I’m certain Carrington needs to be getting on with his journey to his distillery.”

Guinevere bit her lip on a laugh, but she could not contain the smile. Mama was concerned about a chaste kiss, but it was far too late for concern. Guinevere had been corrupted completely, blissfully, eternally.

“When will you return?” she asked Asher as he broke contact with her much to her dismay. But since her mother was bearing down on them like a hound in chase, she did understand.

“Saturday,” he said, winking. “Let us plan on next Sunday here for the wedding.”

She scowled at him. If she did not love him and if her mother were not a breath away, she’d take him to task for being so dictatorial. But she did love him, even if she had not said it exactly and he had not said it back even close to exactly. He had said when we are alone, which gave her immense hope that he would share his heart with her then. Besides those things, she had no doubt that Mama would want the wedding here, if it was not to be in church, which would be difficult to manage on such short notice.

He brought her hand to his lips as Mama came to stand beside her, fairly panting. She must have run through the corridors to get to the garden so quickly. Guinevere scowled, but the moment Asher’s warm lips touched her skin, her discomfiture with her mother was forgotten, as the desire for the man before her consumed her.

He tilted his head close to her and whispered in her ear, “Remember this: ‘To thine own self be true.’”

She grinned. “Hamlet, Act One—”

“Scene Three,” he finished, smiling at her and stepping away as Mama cleared her throat loudly. “My lady.” He offered a tilt of his head, and just as quickly as he had reappeared in her life, he disappeared.

Before the garden door even clicked shut, Mama turned to her. “You should not have allowed such familiarities before he is your husband.”

She was weary of her mother’s criticism, but she knew Mama had only her best interest at heart. “A kiss on the hand hardly seemed outside the bounds to me, Mama.”

“I saw the two of you through the study window, Guinevere,” her mother scolded.

Heaven above, if she only knew!

“You would hate yourself for allowing such liberties if he jilted you,” Mama added.

Her words, sharp as any blow, were hard, painful, and unexpected, but with a sting far worse than a mere hit. Guinevere’s stomach knotted with thoughts. No. No, Asher would never jilt her. He had not been trying to seduce her last night. He wanted to wed her. It was true he had not told her he loved her, but she had not told him plainly she loved him, either.

She frowned. She had practically told him so, though, and Asher was an intelligent man. He had surely understood. What did mo ghraidh mean? The only person she knew who spoke Gaelic was Kilgore.

The idea to go see him took hold before she could stop it. Not only could he tell her what mo ghraidh meant, but he could provide answers to her questions.

The knock at her bedchamber door the next day sent Guinevere and her sisters scrambling to their feet and exchanging anxious glances.

“Yes?” Guinevere called, saying a silent prayer that it was not Mama returned to discuss more wedding arrangements but rather Ballenger returned from her mission to take